


like a moth to a flame

by extremiss



Category: Free!
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Is this angst, M/M, but sousuke is kind of angry, kisumi is some sort of masochist, not really - Freeform, not that descriptive sex i think, this is a mess i dont know what i was thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremiss/pseuds/extremiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kisumi suggests to try a hand at a not-relationship, and Sousuke, like an idiot, agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a moth to a flame

**Author's Note:**

> i havent proofread ahh sorry ((btw soukisu needs more love!!!))
> 
> ((x-posted on tumblr: http://kahrasuno.tumblr.com/post/115992379451/))

Sousuke wonders if Kisumi is capable of ever being serious. He wonders equally as much if Kisumi could be ill-meaning or akin to anything _truly_ vile. He once supposed that to someone so effervescent and to someone who prioritized everyone's happiness, being thrown into the darkest chasm of the most dirty, visceral, emotions is taboo.  
  
It's different now.  
  
It started seeming different to him once he'd made a habit of curling a rough hand around the back of Kisumi's neck, and digging nails hard into Kisumi's thighs; when Kisumi had developed this fixation on biting onto Sousuke's lower lip until it bruised and begun to taste like metal, and affixing nail scratches on Sousuke's back like it was his signature.  
  
"It wouldn't be any different," Kisumi had told him when he first suggested it. "we'd still be friends."  
  
Sousuke made an unsure face, and Kisumi had to chuckle at the evident worry etched out on Sousuke's hardened glare. He pulled Sousuke by the sleeves, the darkness of the room casting shadows on his fox-like features as he peered into Sousuke's gradually crumbling facade.  
  
Sousuke swallowed, and through the tips of Kisumi's fingertips that had only barely been brushing Sousuke's forearm, he felt the tremors of restraint.  
  
_Hook, line, and sinker._  
  
Kisumi's eyes almost seemed to gleam, but his voice seemed odd when he whispered into Sousuke's lips,   
  
"You don't have to have feelings for me, you know."

 

* * *

  
  
The first time had Sousuke on his back, Kisumi sitting pretty on his dick. Everywhere Kisumi had leisurely ghosted his hands over prior set a trail of fire on Sousuke's skin that still burnt brilliantly to the touch— a blistering heat to match the red hue high on Kisumi's cheeks and smack on his lips.   
  
Kisumi struggled to balance himself, with his knees weakening and his toes curled. Sousuke could see the toned muscles of Kisumi's stomach strain every time he raised himself, but the latter always found a way to make Sousuke look at his face.   
  
It's Kisumi who set the pace as he fucked himself on Sousuke's cock, fast and _raw_ until drool began to dribble on the side of Kisumi's lopsided smirk.   
  
And Sousuke watched, hands firm on either side of Kisumi's hips. His candy-colored hair was dampened and disheveled on his eyebrows, falling over his lidded eyes—the same eyes that seemed to Sousuke like stolen pieces of amethyst. After Kisumi managed to draw a grunt from Sousuke, his tongue peeked out to lick his lips slowly, smirk intact.  
  
Sousuke couldn't help but feel a tinge of annoyance. Even in a moment so heated such as this, Kisumi felt a need to be achingly beautiful _and_ smug. Sousuke suppressed a helpless noise at the back of his throat, before flipping them over in one movement.  
  
He hooked Kisumi's legs over his shoulders, relentless as he continued to push and grind into Kisumi's unbelievably tight warmth. He had made Kisumi unrecognizable below him, screaming and gasping only Sousuke's name, as his hands frantically gripped and scrambled for purchase.   
  
Sousuke was engulfed in flames.  
  
Amethyst-colored licks of fire meant to pick him apart and render his bones to ash.  
  
The first time became a fifth time and a seventh, until Kisumi became a habit Sousuke couldn't possibly break.   
  
Sousuke thinks that Kisumi is simple-minded. He needed something fun. He only really needed Sousuke's hands on him. Needed Sousuke to harshly pull at his pink hair and make him beg; needed him to stuff him—make him full, make him writhe, mess him up—and make him remember who his body was made to fit.   
  
For Sousuke, it became entirely different.  
  
It became a distraction.

 

* * *

  
  
When they do it, it's always a come and go. It's always hasty and rushed and rough. There's no time for gentleness or concern— not that either of them need it. The fast pace always eats up the opportunities to make rational decisions and ponder upon inner reflections, anyway. There's never a chance to bask in the afterglow.  
  
Sousuke lay lazily on the bed, not even bothering with the mess of clothes scattered all over the place. Kisumi buttons down his shirt, effectively putting all the bite marks and claims of faux ownership into hiding. "You busy tomorrow?"  
  
Sousuke hums, noncommittally. "Rin asked me to come to this thing with the Iwatobi guys."  
  
Suddenly, the room is plunged into silence. It tends to get this way during the few moments Sousuke tries to even remotely bring up Rin. He doesn't know what kind of face Kisumi is pulling. He never does. He never wants to see the pity or whatever else.  
  
"You don't know what it's like." says Sousuke, defensively.  
  
_To watch someone you love love someone else_ , he means but doesn't say.  
  
Kisumi exhales and out comes laugh, except it sounds too bitter to come from him. So unlike the laughs from Kisumi everyone is used to.  
  
"I do."  
  
Sousuke knows for a fact that Kisumi tends to make light of situations. He doesn't know if this is the same case.  
  
"See you around, Sou-chan."   
  
He hears the door shut behind Kisumi, and makes no move to clarify the plethora of questions he has in his head right now. He feels like he's barely standing on the rocky precipice of some dangerous emotion, and that he has been, for a while now.  
  
He feels almost paper thin where he used to be steel-skinned, and maybe a mere whisper can make the soles of his feet skid on the edge, making him inevitably fall to his doom.

 

* * *

  
  
"Sousuke," he breathes, fingers loosely strewn in cropped black hair. "make it quick."  
  
Sousuke looks on, spying the beginnings of a mischievous curl playing on Kisumi's lips and he already wants to rid him of it before the glint in his eyes has him twisted around Kisumi's finger and losing control.   
  
No, tonight will be different.  
  
His touch on Kisumi's hip comes gently, a light feather-like brush that makes it feel ticklish, but it only makes the latter wince. He leans down to leave kisses down Kisumi's body, his lips soft against the expanse of unblemished skin stretched over muscles and jutting bones.   
  
Sousuke's never taken his time to do this, and he's glad he has, noting how Kisumi's body tends to wriggle slightly and prickle in response to fevered lips and fingertips.   
  
(Kisumi isn't used to such slowness and gentleness.   
  
His body doesn't yearn for touches filled with what can be misconstrued for love.)  
  
"Sou—"   
  
Kisumi's voice breaks. His words catch in his throat, desperate, and the look in his eyes is _pleading_. His eyes go wide when his plea is answered by Sousuke hovering over his length in contemplation, staring excessively long at its hardness and its wet red tip, letting it remain untouched, but only for a moment.   
  
"D-Don't," he gasps, but Sousuke already takes him in his mouth, whilst deft fingers promptly make work of his entrance. Kisumi whimpers, feels himself come apart, feels himself turn _helpless_.  
  
Sousuke is watching him, calmly looking up with Kisumi's length still spasming in his wet mouth, and Kisumi is closing his eyes tightly so he doesn't have to _see_ Sousuke's face.   
  
When Sousuke is finally sheathing himself in Kisumi, purposefully and tortuously slow, Kisumi throws an arm over his face, breath heavy and hips shamelessly rolling against Sousuke.   
  
But Sousuke doesn't let him. Sousuke is deciding the pace this time, and he's going to go slow, even if drives Kisumi crazy.  
  
Sousuke traps Kisumi between his arms, pries off the arm covering his face.  
  
Sousuke pauses.  
  
_He's crying._  
  
The tears roll down his cheeks, where it's colored red and warm, and Kisumi almost looks pained to have to be looking directly into Sousuke's eyes. Sousuke can't understand it.  
  
"Harder, please," Kisumi sobs, voice weak. He's never had to beg like this.  
  
Sousuke only continues to treasure him; continues to treat him like porcelain. Almost like he feels something for Kisumi deep in his heart, when both of them know otherwise.  
  
"No," replies Sousuke, kissing away Kisumi's tears. Kisumi's hand finds its way to Sousuke's cheek, and he finally lets himself give into the illusion, if only just for this moment.

 

* * *

  
  
Sousuke's confusion becomes bigger than it already is and it _consumes_ him. He's wrapped up in it, but tends to ignore it anyway. He lets it leech on him until the blood in him will no longer run, until he no longer functions. And he's okay with that.  
  
When he does it with Kisumi, he can't help but want Kisumi to hold him, and for him to hold Kisumi. It's like for some reason, he wants to be tricked into thinking Kisumi loves him in the way he was sure he doesn't love Kisumi.  
  
Sousuke doesn't want to think about it, nor does he want to put a stop to whatever is going on between him and his supposed friend.  
  
The flimsy solution Sousuke finds is to do it with someone else.   
  
It's different skin and a different scent.  
  
There are no amethysts.  
  
No fire.  
  
No tired smiles.  
  
He clutches the rumpled shirt over his chest, and he finally realizes the flutters in his stomach, the staccato heartbeats, and the nearly suffocating pain blooming from his chest and spreading all over aren't just born from the same old unrequited love anymore.  
  
_Ah_ , he thinks, _this is so fucked up._

 

* * *

  
  
Kisumi visits Samezuka the next day, and does the usual. He slings an arm over Rin's shoulder, smiles and voice evenly bright, flamboyant act unfaltering. He goes to Sousuke to do the same thing, but.  
  
There's something different now.  
  
Sousuke inconspicuously flinches away, making Kisumi a little nonplussed and subsequently giving himself this awkward pause in his tracks that Rin thankfully doesn't pick up on. He blinks twice, but being the showsman he is, recovers quickly and gently places a hand on Sousuke's shoulder.  
  
"Hey, Sousuke." he says, voice gone odd again.  
  
"Kisumi."  
  
It's different.  
  
Unnervingly different.

And Sousuke thinks of what he probably already knew. 

_You were wrong, Kisumi._

They were never going to be normal friends again.

Everything is different.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no explanation for this


End file.
